What About Us
Amidst plenty we grope like scavengers
Like orphans with no descent
Like clothe sellers wearing rags
Or meat vendors feasting only on bones
Had I no inheritance or birthright?
Had I only crumbs off the master’s table
Or no returns for my daylong drudgery?
But mother said we were rich
Her breasts alone feed and power the world
From day break till set of sun
We plough and sink in our seeds
And watch in marvel
As seeming lifeless earth blooms in kinds
Only to wake to harvest with sundry queries
Where is the nectar of our field?
Where are the golden eggs laid at dusk?
‘When men slept…,’ they say
The barns were emptied abroad
Stored up for the unborn
What about us the living
What about us, who dare the sun
And till the ground with blistered hands
The hens are scrawny with soiled grains
And soon may no longer yield golden eggs
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